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Who the fuck am I kidding. She’s always in the back of my mind. Despite our frequent texts, the time difference and my absorption in this project have strained our communication. Her absence is like a shadow, always present, reminding me of what’s at stake beyond these walls.
“Let’s revisit the art installation idea tomorrow. I’d like to stay focused on the physical garden concept.” I stand and draw the team’s attention to the detailed renderings tacked up to the wall. “It’s ambitious, but highlighting ecological balance will be a key.”
Pip tries to cover his yawn. “It’s bold and we’ll need expert input to ensure its viability. I’ll look into finding some resources first thing tomorrow.”
“Make sure they understand this garden isn’t just for show; it’s a living, breathing part of the community.” Rose takes the words out of my mouth.
We continue to go round and round on the intricacies of expanding the green space when my phone buzzes. The first vibration I dismiss, assuming it’s an annoying robocall. When it buzzes fifteen minutes later, I tense up. Probably my mother. When it goes off again half hour later, I can’t help but take a quick glance.
To my surprise, I have three texts from Jordan.
Jordan:
Hey…can you talk?
Jordan:
You must be swamped. Call me when you can.
Jordan:
Okay, it’s past eleven p.m. in London, now I know you’re ghosting me. In all seriousness, can we talk? And, if you’re ghosting me, stop it please. I need to hear your voice.
My heart beats wildly. Seeing her name on my screen stirs a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Our recent phone conversations have been sparse and strained. I’m the one who’s initiated contact, desperate for her to forgive me. Willing to do anything to bridge the gap between us. Her responses have been consistent—cautious and guarded. She’s given me no indication we have a future, but no indication we don’t.
It’s a shitty stage of limbo for which I have no one to blame but myself.
On the other hand, this is the first time she’s reached out since our, um…falling out, which gives me a glimmer of hope.
Unfortunately, I have people counting on me. I quickly shove the phone into my pocket to refocus on the meeting. Rose brilliantly describes her concerns about the community engagement plan and Pip interjects with suggestions about sustainable infrastructure integration for the green space. I should help guide the discussion, but my thoughts keep drifting to Jordan and the desire to call her back.
Fabiola tugs on my sleeve. “Peter, are you with us? Pip asked if we should expand the green spaces up toward the theater?”
“Well…let’s see how it looks on the model.” I rub my eyes. “Truthfully, I’m wrecked. Let’s reconvene at eight tomorrow morning. We all need fresh eyes rather than going around and around saying the same thing. It's imperative we present a tangible plan, not a bunch of pie-in-the-sky ideas.”
As the meeting draws to a close, my team assures me they’re confident we’ll pull everything together in time. I’m not as sure, but I paste on an encouraging smile as they leave.
Now alone, the silence of the room is a stark contrast to the flurry of ideas and discussions filling it moments ago.
Usually in these quiet moments I have time to be objective. Tonight, however, I feel pretty down. My confidence has taken a beating. Our proposal has been brutally scrutinized by the various stakeholders, which was to be expected. Nobody wants a project of this magnitude to move forward without understanding the risks. What’s more concerning is they’ve uncovered miscalculations on the fees we’ll receive—which can only be chalked up to my inexperience in bidding for a job like this.
Fuck. I’ll call it like it is—I’ve overlooked the obvious in my quest to have my name on this project and it’s costing me a small fortune.
First of all, the travel is through the roof—we’ve been flying back and forth to London on the company’s dime and staying in pricey hotels, not to mention meals for all of us. I’ve also diverted significant corporate resources to this project. Everything from paying for 3D models and other renderings to supporting the hefty salaries and benefit packages of my staff, who've been singularly focused on this nonpaying gig for the past year. Each time we make it through another round, the costs ramp up.
I totally understand why some of the candidates dropped out. It’s fucking expensive to throw your hat in the ring for something which, increasingly seems like nothing more than a vanity project.
Worse than all of the financial stuff, I’ve learned the processes, timing and permitting—as it pertains to my technology—will require a lot of hand-holding. No matter who wins this job, building a landmark and its surrounding public spaces is political. This isn’t an international commute situation. I’ll have to move to London, and not temporarily.
Easily a decade. Or more.
If London becomes my permanent home, the odds of working things out with Jordan are zilch.
Shit…Jordan.
I haven’t responded to her yet. I pull out my phone and stare at her texts. The urge to call her rather than text is overwhelming because she needs to know about all of this. Regardless of the consequences. How can I ask her to give up her life in Seattle to move overseas with me?
Fuck. I question whether this monumental project aligns with my personal aspirations anymore. Except, now I'm in too deep financially to pull out.
